


Every Breath She Takes

by MrsWhozeewhatsis (OxfordCommaLover)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 07:02:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10759167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OxfordCommaLover/pseuds/MrsWhozeewhatsis
Summary: This is a personalized fic for @plaidstiel-wormstache as part of my 1500 followers celebration on Tumblr. She left it open for me, but requested fluff.





	Every Breath She Takes

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to @littlegreenplasticsoldier who was my fabulous beta and helped me with the lingo a bit. Honorable mention to @faith-in-dean who helped me pick a title.

Sam was impressed by Jessie from the first moment he saw her. Admittedly, when he first saw her, he was actually seeing a Leviathan impersonating her, but when the monster was as dead as Levis got, she was still impressive. He had almost a foot in height over her, but she was a whirlwind of furious anger with long, dark hair and an explosive expression. She got up off the floor where she’d been thrown, stormed over to the impersonator’s head, and kicked it across the warehouse like a champion soccer player.

“That’s what y’get fer messin’ with the big boys, y’slimey bastard!” she screamed as the head hit a wall with a wet thump and rolled around a corner. She looked up at Sam triumphantly while her chest heaved and her hands landed on her hips. “So, big boy, are there more of those things around here that need killin’ or is this the part where I take you out to dinner to thank you for savin’ me life?”

Sam’s mouth flapped silently while his brain tried to catch up. Her accent enthralled him while he fought to look away from her eyes as they sparkled with mischief. “You’re not going to ask me what that was or what’s going on?”

Jessie shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile. “Mate, I’m from Australia. It’s not a proper Monday morning ‘til ya’ve killed five things that wanna kill ya back!”

The smile that shone from her face was the first thing to warm Sam’s heart since Bobby had died, and he immediately hoped he would see more of it. In spite of everything that was going on around him, for the first time in a very long time, Sam laughed, and his fate was sealed.

When Dean came around the corner, head in hand like Perseus and Medusa, he all but dragged Sam back to the Impala. Jessie followed right behind. The car was three miles down the road before Dean fully realized she was in the back seat and looked at Sam with raised eyebrows and gritted teeth. Sam just shrugged, a wide-eyed innocent smile covering that he was secretly glad that she was there. Dean tried to drop her somewhere, anywhere, trying to convince her that she could still have a normal life, but she wouldn’t go.

“Maybe you didn’t notice in the rush to leave, Pretty Boy, but that head you stashed in your trunk was mine. Now, I’m assuming you had a reason for leaving the body behind, but even if you didn’t, it’s still there, telling the world that I’m dead. You drop me off anywhere, and people are gonna have questions, am I right?”

Dean glared at her for a long moment, then hit the steering wheel as he let out a curse. Slamming the car into gear, he tore out of the grocery store parking lot, tires squealing. No matter what, she wasn’t going back, and it took all of Sam’s willpower not to smile.

Jessie took to hunting faster than anyone Sam had ever seen. She was a quick learner, especially when Dean taught her. The two seemed to get along like oil and water, constantly bickering and trying to one-up each other, but Sam saw the true affection that lay beneath it all. Dean was secretly proud of how easily Jessie passed every test, even if it was only to show him up, and Jessie loved surprising Dean every time she exceeded his expectations. Sam loved watching her rub it in Dean’s face, since it usually included a strange, but enthusiastic, dance which took his breath away and made him grin so hard his cheeks ached. When it came to hitting the books, she was no slouch there, either. She always seemed to know exactly where to go to get the information they needed and was just as quick as either of the brothers to make connections and find answers.

When they found the bunker, Jessie was even more excited about the library than Sam was. Specifically, she was excited to read all the journals she found there. She’d pored over John’s journal, and the journals Sam and Dean had taken from the Campbell compound, eager to read firsthand accounts of hunts and how other hunters dealt with the life. She was fascinated with how the Men of Letters documented everything with pictures and video, not just writing, and soon was taking millions of photos on every hunt. Dean would growl at getting held up while Jesse snapped pictures of Wendigo scat (“I’m not taking pictures of _poop_ , Dean!”) or monster footprints (“I know we were thinking werewolf, but are we _sure_ Bigfoot isn’t real?”) or whatever she felt was unique to a case (“The book says how you do the ritual is just as important as the spell ingredients and the words, so yes, Dean, I’m recording you. Now, make pretty for the camera, sweet cheeks!”).

Through it all, Sam watched her. Quietly, he encouraged her, grinning at her antics and laughing at her quips. When she was injured, he handled her gently while he patched her up. When a hunt went badly, he let her bury herself in his arms until her tears finally dried. When a hunt was finished quickly and easily, he made sure there were glasses of water mixed in with her tumblers of whiskey and ridiculously colored cocktails with little umbrellas.

He watched her as she challenged Dean to bet after bet, getting Dean to offer the serious stakes like letting her pick the music on hunts or cleaning up the library after rough research sessions. She lost as often as she won, but it was all worth it for the times when she was victorious, singing country songs at the top of her lungs while Dean glowered and revved the engine. He watched her as she danced in the kitchen to Justin Timberlake, her hips shaking as she unloaded grocery bags and put things away. He watched her as she slept on scratchy comforters in cheap motel rooms, her hair splayed out on pillows he definitely wouldn’t steal for himself the following night (but he totally did). Every day, he watched her embrace everything she came across, almost fearlessly, and with a passion he hadn’t felt in a long time. He watched her, careful to not let her see him watching, for fear she’d stop being entirely herself if she knew he saw her.

Eventually, the day he feared finally came, and he watched her as she danced with some douchey-looking guy at a bar after a hunt. He was in a suit, with slicked-back hair and an expensive watch. He flaunted his gold card when he ordered her a drink and winked at her as he spoke to the bartender. As they danced to some pop rock ballad that made Dean groan, his hand dipped to just below the small of her back, not quite being so rude as to actually grab her ass, but definitely enjoying the feel of the slope down toward it. Sam watched her giggle and blush while he tried to drown the sick feeling in his stomach.

“If you stare at her any harder, you’re going to burn a hole through her dress and then the dick will really get a show,” Dean said as he sat down across from Sam. “You better make your move quick, Sam, or we’re not gonna see her again until after breakfast.”

Sam glared at his brother, wishing he could burn a hole through Dean’s smirk. “If she liked me that way, she’d have said something or done something, Dean. I’m not what she wants.”

Dean shook his head. “You know, for a guy who got a full ride to fucking Stanford, you sure are dumb sometimes,” he said with a jab at Sam before finishing his drink and turning to inspect a raucous group of ladies at the bar.

Sam downed the rest of his drink and shook his head. “All right, present your case. What makes you think I have a snowball’s chance in hell?”

Dean glanced at Sam and chuckled, then began counting off reasons on his fingers. “When she’s hurt or upset, she always goes to you. When she’s happy or excited, she always goes to you. When she has to be the deciding vote, she always votes with you. Every time we stop for food, she always gets something for you.” Dean looked at his brother and shook his head at Sam’s unconvinced expression. “And even if it weren’t for all of that, it’s the way she looks at you, man. She’s always watching you, especially when you’re doing that thing that makes the female victims talk. Dude, she _hates_ when you do that thing.”

Sam considered his brother’s words but wasn’t brave enough to give himself that kind of hope. “I don’t know, Dean.” He shook his head and stared into his empty glass.

Dean tapped the table with his hand and stood up to leave. “Fine. Don’t believe me. Watch her go home with that asshat and spend the night alone torturing yourself thinking about what they’re doing. But I guarantee, if you go over there right now and step in, she’ll forget him so fast his head will spin.”

Sam’s view of Jessie was obscured by Dean’s departure, and when he looked back where she and the dick had been, he saw nothing but empty floor.

His eyes bounced over the bar, the dart board, the jukebox, and every table in the joint, but she was nowhere. His heart raced as he searched the tiny dive bar a second and then a third time, but he still didn’t find her. Despair filled him as he realized he was already too late. She was already gone.

He rubbed a hand over his face and slumped back in the booth, fighting the urge to throw his empty glass against the wall just for the satisfaction of hearing it shatter. His head ached with the emotion he wasn’t letting out, his eyes burning as he clenched his fists so tightly his palms stung. He’d waited too long to tell her how he felt, and now she was off doing….

Sam’s head dropped into his hands and he pushed the heels of his palms into his eyeballs as if to physically wipe away the thoughts of what Jessie was doing with Douchey McDoucherton. When the worst of the images had passed, he dropped his hands and stared at his empty glass again, trying to will it to fill automatically. He no longer had the energy or the strength to hail the waitress and ask for another refill, no matter how much he needed it, so he would just sit here and stare at the glass until someone kicked him out.

He was deep into a pit of self-loathing and self-recrimination when his empty glass was pushed aside by a large glass of water.

“You look like you need this,” said the most beautiful voice with the most melodic accent Sam had ever heard.

Sam looked up, and there stood Jessie. Her brow was furrowed as she looked him over, but he thought she’d never looked more beautiful. “I thought you’d left with that guy,” Sam said quietly, the shock bleeding into his voice.

“Brad?” she scoffed as she slid into the booth next to him. “He must have had pizza with garlic, onion, _and_ anchovies for lunch or something. His breath was truly foul. I mean, it was worse than Marmite breath, and that’s worse than Vegemite breath! And I didn’t think that was possible! There’s not a lot of—“

Sam interrupted Jessie’s train of thought by pulling her into his arms and slamming his lips onto hers. There was a moment of panic when she didn’t respond, but then her arms wound around him and she started kissing back.

The kiss was about the most perfect kiss Sam had ever had. Jessie tasted so sweet, like the fruity concoction she’d been drinking, and it almost made Sam dizzy. He groaned when he finally had to come up for air, not wanting to separate from her now that he had her. As they both pulled back, Sam kept his eyes closed, fearing what he might see on Jessie’s face.

“Well, you certainly don’t have Vegemite breath,” Jessie said, her voice breathy and soft.

Sam’s eyes flew open to gauge her reaction and his heart nearly burst out of his chest at her smile. Her grin matched his, and his was so wide his cheeks ached with it. He set his forehead on hers and sighed. “I thought I missed my chance. I thought you were gone and I was too late.”

Jessie pulled back a bit, and Sam opened his eyes to see her smiling face again.

“Too late for what, Sam?” she asked quietly, her eyes wide as she searched his face and took a shuddering breath.

“Too late to tell you how much you mean to me. Too late to kiss you and hold you, and—” Sam cupped the side of her head with one hand, tangling his fingers in her hair and sighing at the feel of her. “Too late to ask you if maybe you might feel the same way, too?” Sam’s eyes were hopeful as Jessie continued to grin.

“Yeah, Sam. Yeah, I do,” she said, her eyes sparkling as she reached up and combed her fingers through Sam’s hair, too, caressing his cheek until he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Sam kissed her again, this time more slowly, with less panic. He took the time to really taste her, to feel her softness beneath his hands. He listened to the breathy sighs and whimpers she let out as her lips moved against his. As they came up for air, he filled his nose with the scent of her shampoo before opening his eyes and drinking in the sight of her. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright, her mouth slightly swollen, and it was all from his kisses. Finally, she was his, to experience with all of his senses, but he’d never get tired of watching her.


End file.
